


Heartagram

by EnInkahootz



Category: HIM (Band), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Wizards, Clairvoyance, Crossover, Gen, M/M, Magic, Magical Tattoos, Music, No Sex, RPF, Rituals, Teenagers, Their relationship can be read as close friendship, Underage Drinking, Vampires, Wizards, as you choose, but eighteen by the end, if read as romance this is underage because Mikko is twelve at the start, or an innocent familial relationship, or implied romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-27 19:53:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17773211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnInkahootz/pseuds/EnInkahootz
Summary: In an alternate universe similar to that ofHarry Potter, singer Ville Valo is a wizard and a four-hundred-year-old vampire who appears to be twenty years old.  He meets a guitar-playing teenaged wizard named Mikko Lindström and they find they share a musical destiny.





	Heartagram

There was no band then, only Ville singing with whatever musicians were at the nightly jam session downtown. Helsinki, Finland was bustling that night, but the bar was less crowded than usual, many of its regular patrons having gone to a big concert nearby. Ville had used his own quill to write his name in ornate cursive on the sign-up sheet, and he had been allowed three songs since there were so few performers.

It was in the middle of his first song that Ville spied a shy looking boy watching with great interest from the back of the bar. He was too young to have been there, perhaps eleven or twelve years old. He wasn’t drinking though, only watching the performance. Without thinking about it, Ville met his eyes and the boy blushed instantly and deeply. 

After Ville had finished his songs and exchanged compliments with the musicians, he made his way to where the boy sat.

“Hello,” Ville said to him in Finnish. The boy’s timid nature brought out Ville’s own bashfulness, which seemed to linger often when he wasn’t in the heady trance of making music. Ville gave a small shy smile. The boy looked up at him, and his cheeks were still a warm shade of pink. He was so young, but Ville could see a deep quiet wisdom in his eyes.

“My name is Ville Valo,” Ville continued, “it is a pleasure to meet you.” He bowed his head in greeting. “Forgive me, but it seems you are rather young to be here. Are you in need of any kind of assistance?”

The boy looked startled that Ville had offered help rather than scolding him. He shook his head and swallowed audibly.

“I’m Mikko,” the boy said, “Mikko Lindström. Sorry, I just wanted to watch.” He looked over his shoulder to see who might be listening to their conversation. “I can leave, though, I’m sorry,” he appeared very guilty as he pleaded, “please don’t tell on me, Sir. I’ll leave now.”

He turned to go but Ville laid his hand softly on the boy’s shoulder.

“I will not get you in any sort of trouble, Mikko,” he told him reassuringly, “I was only concerned, and wanted to inquire if you were in need of help of any kind. Have you somewhere to go, food to eat?” 

Mikko was quiet again, staring at Ville with a surprised expression.

“Yes,” he answered, “yes, I have a home to go back to, but thank you for asking,” Mikko said politely. “I just, well, I’ve seen you sing here before,” he stammered, “and I just wanted to see you sing again, and, well, I snuck out, I’m sorry, please don’t tell my mom.”

Ville smiled, relieved to hear the boy was not destitute.

“Fear not, my friend,” he told Mikko, “I saw you were not imbibing alcohol nor any other adult substances. I have no desire to bring you to any sort of punishment. Your only crime is being uncontrollably called to the power that is music, and this I understand well.” 

Mikko blushed harder and looked away with a self-conscious smile.

“However,” Ville continued, “we would not wish your mother to worry, should she find you are not where you are meant to be.”

“Oh,” Mikko replied, looking worried.

“Are you meant to be at home asleep, Mikko?”

The boy nodded, looking ashamed.

“Then I will escort you home,” Ville said, and Mikko’s face fell, “however,” Ville continued, “perhaps tomorrow I could arrange for you to see me sing at an earlier hour, and in a more appropriate location?” 

Mikko appeared overwhelmed.

“Only if you would like, of course,” Ville added. He had been about to invite the boy to see him sing at his home the following day, but belatedly realized that it was inappropriate for him to invite over a boy so young. Still, he felt a kinship with Mikko, though they had only just met, and despite his young age. Ville recognized in Mikko the same passion that drove him to make his own music, to speak to the world through that sound which was beyond magic. Ville could sense Mikko’s longing to be immersed further in that world, and it was something he could not deny him.

“Do you sing as well?” he asked the boy, distracted from his goal of walking Mikko home.

Mikko shook his head.

“No,” he replied, “but I play guitar.”

“How wonderful,” Ville said delightedly, “have you been playing long?”

“I’ve taken lessons since I was seven,” Mikko answered with a nod, “and I just turned twelve. My next recital is in a month.”

“How lovely,” Ville replied, “I would love to hear you play.”

Mikko looked panicked, and Ville gave the boy a soft soothing smile.

“I am nervous before I perform,” Ville confided, “every time.”

“Really?” Mikko asked, staring at him with an expression of amazement.

Ville nodded sincerely.

“Yes, it can be very frightening, opening up in front of an audience, being so raw. Yet, once I begin, a strange and beautiful feeling overtakes me. I forget to be afraid, I forget to be self-conscious, because I become one with the music. I feel as though I become the words and the notes, as though I am them, and they are me. And there is no room to be afraid, no room to think of how others see me, or how others hear me. There is no thought left to wonder what anyone might think, because I am filled so entirely and completely with the music.”

Mikko nodded in earnest agreement, his eyes bright.

“Yes,” he said after a moment, “that’s how I feel too, when I play. Like, everything else goes away.”

“Perhaps we can ask your mother if she might permit you and I to play together some time,” Ville replied at once. He hadn’t thought it through, overwhelmed with the instinctive feeling that he and Mikko were meant to progress each other’s musical journeys. The part of him that sometimes knew things he shouldn’t know was telling him they were going to be important to each other. 

“Oh, I would love that,” Mikko exclaimed.

After having made the suggestion, Ville realized how it might seem to the boy’s mother that a strange man who appeared to be approximately twenty years old was taking such a sudden and intense interest in her twelve-year-old son. Not to mention what she would say once she learned that Ville was actually a four-hundred-year-old vampire. Still, Ville had faith that he would find a way to make music with Mikko, and that it would be beautiful.

“But now it is very late,” Ville told him, snapping back to the present, “allow me to ensure you arrive home safely.”

“Okay,” Mikko replied, sounding disappointed.

“But I will send your mother an owl in the morning, introducing myself and explaining my interest in your talent.”

“You’ll tell her I snuck out?”

“No, I will not get you in any trouble, Mikko,” Ville assured him. He didn’t wish to lie to the boy’s mother, but felt it was in everyone’s best interest. He would keep watch over Mikko now. He would be sure the boy was safe. “I will tell her I saw you perform at your last recital,” he assured, “but let neither of us make a habit of lying.”

Mikko nodded, and they left the bar. Ville walked him home, and on the way Mikko told him all about his music; he listed his favorite songs to play, praised his new guitar, and shared his concerns about his performance in the upcoming recital. When they arrived at Mikko’s home, Ville watched Mikko expertly climb in through the window of his bedroom. He was relieved that Mikko had made it home safely. Mikko turned and gazed down out the open window. He and Ville looked at each other for a long moment, the muted light from Mikko’s bedroom seeming bright against the dark night, before Mikko waved goodbye. Ville waved back with a wide, warm smile. 

~

Ville attended Mikko’s music recital the following month. He watched from the back row, eager for Mikko’s part in the performance. He had already heard Mikko play a number of times by then. They had spent many afternoons together in the month since they had met, and had even shared the pleasure of making music together. But Ville had not yet seen him play in front of others. He could sense Mikko’s nervousness, and when their eyes met Ville gave him a reassuring smile. He was excited for Mikko’s moment, for the audience to hear Mikko share his great talent and passion. 

When Mikko began to play, Ville felt a concrete certainty settle inside him. He knew that everything he had felt about Mikko, and the musical journey they would soon take, was true. Ville believed in destiny, and in the all-powerful wisdom of the Goddess. He had prayed to Her to help his music find its way, and he felt sure that She had led him here, to the right person and in the right time.

~

It was three years later when they first played a full show together. Mikko was only fifteen, but since he was with Ville no one was objecting. They performed a set of cover songs before taking an intermission.

“That was amazing,” Mikko said between bites of food and swallows of beer.

“Be careful not to drink that too fast,” Ville told him with a slightly concerned expression. 

“I’m having it with food,” Mikko protested, “like you told me to.” Ville nodded in reply. He had spied a few others of Mikko’s age who seemed to have become quite inebriated, but he wanted to be sure Mikko stayed safe. Ville decided he would keep an eye on how much Mikko drank throughout the evening. 

“It was amazing, wasn’t it,” Ville agreed, “transcendent.” The word felt heavy and true on his lips.

After their break they played a set of original songs. Ville had written the lyrics, with minimal input from Mikko, while the music itself had been a fully collaborative effort. Their music was dark and bright at once, highlighting the sorrow of the world and exposing its brilliant beauty. And so, it was to grand cheers from the audience that their band was born in earnest, and they named their union _His Infernal Majesty_.

~

“I dreamt about you last night,” Ville told him one afternoon nearly a year later. They had been practicing their newest song but were taking a break while Mikko ate lunch.

“What did you dream?”

“We were playing the new song, standing out in an open field. It was snowing and the ground was white. You had a dark red guitar, and I had a microphone that was actually a black flower.” Mikko nodded with interest. 

“Then a beam of fire came from the sky,” Ville continued, “and the flames drew a symbol in the snow around us. We were encircled by the symbol.”

“What was the symbol?”

“It was like a six-pointed star, yet it was not one,” Ville tried to explain. He took out his quill from where he kept it tucked away beside his wand. Mikko fetched him parchment and a small bottle of ink. 

On the page Ville drew a wide triangle, then looked at it for some time. He added the point of an upside-down triangle on top of it, but stopped before drawing its base. 

“There was something else on the top,” he said, closing his eyes to try and see the symbol from his dream. He set down his quill and rubbed his temples.

He opened his eyes just in time to see Mikko pick up the quill. With slow, eerie movements Mikko brought it to the parchment. His expression appeared confused, and his hand seemed to move almost on its own. He completed the upside-down triangle, but instead of a straight line for a base he brought the lines up into two curves, connected in the middle to the point of the first triangle. He had made the upside-down triangle into a heart. 

“It’s you,” Mikko said softly as he traced the lines of the heart in the air above the wet ink. “And me,” he added, tracing above the triangle, “this is when we come together, when we make our music.” 

They both looked down at Mikko’s red canvas sneakers, which he had previously decorated with triangles of various sizes drawn in black marker. Then their eyes moved in unison to Ville’s necklace, a long silver chain that he always wore, with a pendant in the shape of a heart.

“Yes,” Ville replied, “yes, that is it exactly.”

And so, it was in silent awe of their shared clairvoyance that their symbol was born in earnest, and they named their union _Heartagram_.

~

“I will be back from my trip in six months,” Ville told him the following winter as they hugged goodbye. “I shall send you an owl every week,” he promised. 

“I wrote you a letter already,” Mikko said sadly, “to read when you get there.” He retrieved a rolled-up parchment from his pocket. “If you miss me,” he added with a small smile.

“I am certain that I will.”

They hugged again until an impatient voice from outside called for Ville to come.

~

Ville opened the letter as soon as he was alone, untying the dark red ribbon from around the scroll and smoothing out the parchment.

_Dear Ville,_

_I’m sure I already miss you by the time you’re reading this. I’ll practice our songs lots and think of you while you’re on your trip. But it won’t be the same without you! I hope you have a wonderful time. Write me about anything interesting that you do. Then we can talk about it all more when you get back. It always feels like a really long time when you’re away. I know six months is short for you though. But I hope you miss me anyhow!_

Here Mikko had drawn a smiley face.

_Don’t forget about our concert a week after you get back! I hope we can get in a lot of practice that week before the show. I’m nervous for it, like always. Wish you were here to make me calm. You’re so good at that. Have so much fun. Love you._

The letter was signed with a triangle.

~

_My dearest Mikko,_

_I enjoyed your newest letter. Reading it I felt like you were here with me. I miss seeing you every day. I miss you especially in the mornings, thinking of our sunrise walks together. Yet at the same time, it is wonderful to have an opportunity to write to each other. And so, there is joy in the sorrow of our parting; happiness in the dark, as we so often find._

_Yesterday I began lyrics for a new song. Of course, it won’t be ready in time for our upcoming show, but I am looking forward to working with you on it upon my return. Perhaps I shall be ready to send a draft of the lyrics with my next correspondence._

Ville’s letter proceeded to report on his trip so far, describing the places he had gone and the things he had seen. He wrote all about the dream that had inspired the new lyrics. He wrote about his fears and about his joy, and he told his secrets.

 _I will be thinking of you,_ he wrote at the end, _until we meet again - play on, my dear one, play on._

And he signed the letter with a heart.

~

“Are you certain, my dear Mikko?” Ville asked, searching Mikko’s face. It was Mikko’s eighteenth birthday and they had planned to get their coordinated tattoos. It would be Mikko’s first. 

“It was my idea, silly,” Mikko replied. 

“I know,” Ville smiled, “but I want you to be sure before we go through with it.”

Mikko stared confidently back into Ville’s eyes.

“I’m sure,” he declared.

“Ready?” the tattoo artist asked, and they both nodded. Their tattoos would be born out of an old marking Ritual. They had practiced the incantations together.

“We honor the Goddess and all that She gives us,” they spoke in Latin, the language of magical practice and worship. “Before Her we declare the depth of our expressions.” They each held up a parchment on which they had drawn their respective tattoos, turning the pages to face upward.

“I bear witness to your expressions,” the tattoo artist recited in reply.

“We invite permanence to our expressions. We seek these markings to cement them, and to give them form.”

The artist lifted his tattoo quill up above his head with both arms.

“Do you accept the markings of this quill?”

“We accept them.”

“Do you desire the markings of this quill?”

“We desire them.”

“Do you welcome the markings of this quill?”

“We welcome them.”

“May the Goddess seal this ink into your skin. May the Goddess bless these markings.”

A moment of silence concluded the opening incantations.

“You first,” the tattoo artist said to Ville in Finnish. Ville presented his inner right wrist and he and Mikko both watched as the outline of a simple black heart was inscribed into his skin. 

When it was Mikko’s turn, Ville watched his face. He worried that the pain of the tattoo quill would be difficult for him, but Mikko only smiled. 

When the corresponding triangle on Mikko’s inner right wrist was completed, the tattoo artist set aside his quill and picked up his wand. Ville and Mikko presented their new tattoos, their wrists lined up beside one another.

“Goddess bless these markings,” the tattoo artist chanted in Latin as he waved his wand over their skin, “Goddess seal these markings.”

Ville and Mikko took out their own wands then. The artist set the two parchments they had drawn the symbols on in front of them.

“Goddess bless, Goddess seal,” Mikko and Ville spoke in unison, then used their wands to set the papers ablaze. They took each other’s hands and watched until only ash remained. They looked at each other and Ville felt the intensity of the connection that had just been created.

They had become the Heartagram.


End file.
